Brutus: The Rise To Power
by Dan Sickles
Summary: Loyal son Brutus is shackled to his role as Rome's "noble man" - until he decides to break on through! Will he succeed in his ruthless rise to power? Begins with the Season Two premiere. Rated T for steamy sex, violence, and language. Please review!
1. The Speech

BRUTUS: THE RISE TO POWER

_A single speech changes the course of Roman history. I do not own these immortal characters. Please comment nicely! _

"That little punk Brutus is as good as dead." Marc Antony laughed softly to himself as he allowed the pretty German slave girl to cradle his gigantic manhood in her tiny hands.

"What makes you so sure he'll give a bad speech? Brutus is a scholar and a gentleman, is he not?" Atia feigned boredom and disdain as she watched her slave girl pleasure the most magnificent man in Rome. In truth the sight stirred her. Excited her. But she knew better than to show any interest.

Marc Antony was too conceited already!

"Caesar was murdered by gentlemen," Antony replied, closing his eyes as the slave girl stroked him intimately. "The mob is in an ugly mood already. If that little snot-picker starts talking down to them, using fancy language and abstract reasoning, they'll tune him out. Then it'll be my turn to remind them how much they loved Caesar. Passion is the key, my love. Passion in the most animal sense!"

"Yes, I see what you mean," Atia said drily. She clapped her hands. "Be on your way, girl. I'll take it from here!"

Marc Antony smiled, not even bothering to open his eyes. This was going to be the best day of his life!

Meanwhile on the other side of town, young Brutus was trying desperately to scratch out a few sentences on a wax tablet. But it was hard to concentrate. His mother Servilia and his friends Cassius and Cicero were all counseling him and correcting him and advising him at the same time.

"Damn it all!" The young idealist shouted, throwing down his stylus. "We can't tell the people we killed Caesar to preserve the Republic. Murder a friend and benefactor in the name of justice? It'll sound ridiculous!"

"To the uneducated, perhaps." Cicero sniffed the air as though detecting an unpleasant odor. "But what they think can hardly be of importance to the Republic."

"Unless they rise up and kill us all," Cassius muttered. "Or side with that beast Marc Antony. We must prevent that from happening, Brutus. We must win over the common people!"

"You must tell the truth, my son," Servilia said, laying a soft white hand on her son's shoulder. Her huge brown eyes shone with love and fanatical devotion. "You killed Caesar for the only reason that matters. Because you are an honorable man, and my son!"

"Thank you, Mother." Brutus watched his mother make a graceful exit from the chamber, her silk robes swishing softly. Servilia carried herself like a perfect lady at all times. To Brutus she had always seemed pure, untouchable. Yet behind closed doors she was capable of an unholy passion.

_The only reason that matters._

"Come on, old friend. Let's try to get something on wax." Cassius handed him the stylus, but Brutus pushed it away.

"No," he said. "I'm all right now. I know what I want to say."

The huge throng was hungry for answers. Hungry for a chance to mourn. But above all they wanted a chance to release their rage and channel it into violent action.

"Feel like going first, boy?" Marc Antony was leaning against a pillar, eating a juicy golden pear. He felt strong. Confident. He was a lion, toying with his prey before the kill.

"Yes, thanks. Can I have a pear, too?" Brutus smiled in a vague, absent-minded way at the tougher, older man. He wandered onto the stage with the uneaten pear still in his hand, like a schoolboy late for class.

"I haven't seen a pear like this since I was a little boy," Brutus remarked softly. Plain citizens were surprised when the proud, haughty young nobleman sat down with his skinny legs dangling over the edge of the stage. It got quiet in a hurry because everyone was trying extra hard to listen. Everyone heard Brutus take the first bite of the pear.

"I grew up in the country," he began quietly, as if he were talking to a few friends instead of a huge mob. "I remember there was one pear tree that mother never wanted me to climb. Of course I climbed it anyway – I was a naughty boy." The crowd laughed. Humor from Brutus took them by surprise. "Mother was always looking out for me when I was a boy. My name is Marcus Junius Brutus, by the way. Servilia of the Junii is my mother. And in case you didn't know it already, Caesar and my mother were lovers."

The crowd gasped. Everyone had heard the rumors. Or seen the filthy pictures on the walls. But Servilia was still a lady. And it was absolutely unheard of for a well-born young gentleman to discuss his mother's sex life in public.

"Fool," Antony chuckled to himself. "He's lost them already."

"Mother doesn't look the type, does she?" Brutus asked, in a thoughtful tone of voice. No one laughed at him. "To look at her, you'd think she was chaste Diana, goddess of the hunt. Mother was always the best at household work. We're a rich family, you know, but she's always done all her own dying and weaving, just like Penelope of old. My mother Servilia is just that kind of woman. When I was a boy, she was the one in charge of teaching me right from wrong. When I was a boy, I thought she could do no wrong!"

"Talk about Caesar!" someone shouted from the crowd. Dozens of voices shushed him, and yet Brutus looked up from his own thoughts without taking offense.

"Caesar is dead," Brutus said simply. "I killed him for what he did to my mother."

A long pause.

When nobody met his stare, the young nobleman frowned at his half-eaten pear. "Caesar wasn't the man I thought he was. Mother wasn't the woman I always thought she was, either. But I still love her. I'll always love her." He studied the silent crowd, now hanging on his every word. "Have you ever had a mother you loved? More than anything else on earth?"

"Yes!" cried the crowd. Some were respectable citizens, and some were criminals. The knife-men shouted as loud for their mothers as anyone else.

The sons of whores were actually crying.

"Caesar was good to me," Brutus was saying. "But Servilia is my mother. And when I saw those bruises on her face . . . when I saw our great father treat the finest, noblest woman in Rome like a . . . like a slave girl . . . well, I guess I forgot all about all the good things Caesar has done for the city."

"Bastard! Villain!" shouted voices from the crowd.

"No, no!" Brutus raised his hand for silence. "Good friends, no. Caesar didn't force himself on my mother. Poor mother invited him into her bed of her own free will! It was only afterwards, when he was tired of her, that he beat my mother like a common prostitute. Surely you think she deserved it?"

"No! No!" The throng roared, weeping with fury. "You did right, Brutus! You did right!"

The young nobleman shook his head. "You do me honor, my good friends. But I can't agree with you. Caesar's blood is on my hands. I alone bear the guilt. Now I wish to make things right by sharing power with Caesar's loyal friend Marc Antony. Surely we can trust him not to make Caesar's mistakes. A man like Marc Antony will never waste your money, or dishonor your wives and daughters!"

"To the Tiber with Marc Antony! Let him follow Caesar into Hades!" The crowd surged forward, dangerously excited.

Brutus scowled like a stern but caring schoolmaster. "Good friends, I cannot allow you to talk that way about a Roman soldier. Let Marc Antony come forth and defend himself!"

"Bring him out! Bring him out!" roared the crowd. "Let's finish what Brutus started!"

Brutus left the stage with a low bow, tossing what was left of his pear to his muscular rival. "They're all yours, big man."

_A/N: Will Brutus go all the way? Will mighty Antony stand against him? What about young Octavian? Please review!_


	2. The Scream

CHAPTER TWO: The Scream

"Bloody slaves – they do nothing right!" Beautiful Atia was covering up her fear with fury, as usual. The city of Rome was boiling over with fury – and the fickle mob had turned once again. Only this morning they had been for Marc Antony, and now – now the dogs were all against him!

The hot-blooded Roman matron had been sharing her bed with the soldier for months, of course. It was only good sense to form an alliance with the man everyone said was invincible. But as she ran around the outer walls of her family villa, making sure every door was bolted, flame-haired Atia began to wonder for the first time if poor Marc Antony were really indestructible after all.

Only this morning, Antony had been so confident. He was going to praise Caesar, and bury Brutus. But something had gone wrong. The funeral for Uncle Julius had exploded into a riot. Night had fallen, and Antony was still missing.

Suddenly there was a groan from under a pile of rubbish.

"Antony! How did you get in here?"

"Crawled . . . through the sewer." The great Roman soldier certainly looked as if he had crawled through the sewer. His entire body was blackened with filth, but even under all that muck and slime Atia could see the bruises and blood of a terrible beating.

"Poor man, let's get you into the bath." Atia nearly reached out to help Antony up herself, but the stench changed her mind. "Slaves! Come see to our guest!"

"Are you sure that's a good idea, mother?" Young Octavian had entered the atrium on silent feet, and stood looking down at the battered Marc Antony with expressionless eyes.

"Get a medic, boy." The moment Antony sensed Atia's son looking at him, he put on his old air of bullying authority. But he no longer had the muscle to back it up. The big man was finished. Sensing this, his voice cracked with fear. "Go on!"

Octavian kept looking at him, like a snake eyeing his prey. Finally he turned to his mother. "For your sake, mother, I ask you to reconsider whether it's really safe to keep up your . . . friendship with this man. Brutus and his allies now control the city. They have armed men out everywhere looking for Marc Antony. If he's found here, all of us may end up just like Uncle Julius."

"Legions," Antony choked out. The pain of his wounds was getting worse and worse. He remembered the mob kicking him, spitting on him, women clawing his face till it bled. "Have legions . . . in the north. Will protect . . . all of you!"

"Yes, well, we're not in the north now, are we?" Practical Atia seemed to come to a decision. "All right, my clever little son, why don't you and that low-born friend of yours, Agrippa, help Marc Antony find a safe hiding place in the city? Someplace shabby and drab, where no-one would look for my dashing, handsome, courageous Marc Antony!"

"Of course, mother. I'll summon Timon and his people, and we'll take him out the back way. We'll take Antony to the Aventine, to the home of Lucius Vorenus."

As soon as Antony heard the name of Vorenus, he knew everything would be all right. He remembered what he'd once told Caesar about the grim, gray-eyed centurion. _Deep Thirteenth, that one. He'd follow the standard up Pluto's . . ._

"Where are we going, boy?" Antony's eyes were nearly swollen shut. But he could tell this wasn't the way to the Aventine. Not far from Atia's house, they turned down a narrow alleyway. Someone tripped him, and he fell down.

"Good evening, Brutus!" Young Octavian cried cheerfully.

"Good evening, young Octavian," Marcus Junius Brutus said politely. "May I offer my condolences on the tragic death of your Uncle Julius?"

"Thank you, Brutus. Your speech at the Forum this afternoon touched me deeply. I realize now that Caesar's death was a tragedy for both of us."

"Murderer!" Marc Antony tried to lift his head. He wanted to spit on Brutus. He wanted to spit on all the sissy boys. He was a man! Oh, but he hurt. He hurt so bad. And he couldn't seem to move. Someone planted a foot on Antony's back, forcing his bloody face back into the filthy gutter.

"Well, what have we here?" Octavian asked, as though just noticing the man in the gutter. "Can this be Marc Antony, the Son of Hercules? Here, noble Antony, let me help you up."

Like a fool, Antony actually reached for the boy's hand. Instead he got a kick in the mouth that sent him sprawling.

"That's the kind of help I'm gonna give you . . . _boy._" Octavian's voice held a sneering note of triumph. He turned back to Brutus. "Tell me, Brutus, if this thing was a Gaul, would you kill it?"

"Killing is the last thing I would do to Antony," Brutus said. "The very last thing. But there's so much we can do first, to celebrate our new alliance. Let's do it together, Octavian."

"Together!" The two young men shook hands. They were sissy boys, all right. Nothing but a pair of weak sissy boys!

"Good evening friends," said a soft voice. Marcus Tullius Cicero held up something that glittered in the torch light. Something long and sharp. "Shall we get down to business?"

Marc Antony screamed.

Like a woman.


	3. The Outsider

_Chapter Three: The Outsider_

Loud voices, angry accusations, red faces and glaring eyes. It was all sickeningly familiar. Octavia of the Julii felt the usual sour bile welling up inside her at the breakfast table, turning her stomach so that she couldn't eat a bite.

"Brutus will kill us all, just you wait" Voluptuous Atia hissed, jabbing her finger at her skinny little son. "And it will be your fault. You killed our family's only protector, Marc Antony."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, mother." Octavian was calmly eating figs. Nothing ever spoiled his appetite. Yet he never seemed to gain any weight. "Antony was ambushed by thieves in a dark alley. I didn't kill him. And he was never anyone's protector, least of all yours. He used you like a common tramp. Your lust soiled the family honor."

"Why, you ungrateful little beast! I was trying to save us all from ruin, and this is the thanks I get." Atia tossed her hands in the air, appealing to the gods in melodramatic despair.

"Mother, may I be excused?" Octavia asked, in a small voice. "I want to go to the temple, and offer prayers and sacrifices for our family." _And escape from this madhouse_.

"You may not leave this house!" Atia went back to gobbling grapes. "Brutus and his thugs are sure to murder any one of us who steps outside. He's determined to be master of Rome, that's plain. He'll have to tidy up loose ends."

"On the contrary, Brutus is anxious to consolidate his position, and gain legitimacy," Octavian said quietly. "He's likely to send for me at any moment. Rome's only hope now is a show of unity. I mean to propose a triumvirate of Brutus, Cicero and myself. Together we can save the Republic."

"Foolish boy! The whole world is in love with your brain, is it? Brutus is just using you!"

"Mother, the whole world is not in love with my brain, nor with your body. And by the way, Antony was just using you."

"How dare you!" Atia went up like a torch. A fresh round of screams, accusations, and threats.

"I think I'd like to go to my room," Octavia whispered, pushing away her untouched breakfast. "I think I'd like to go and lie down." No one was listening to her. No one ever listened to her. It was like being on the bottom of the sea. The fragile beauty closed her eyes, and imagined herself lost, drifting forever among the seaweed. So peaceful . . .

Just then one of Atia's house slaves interrupted the happy family meal. "A messenger from the house of Brutus, domina."

"Is Brutus summoning me to discuss matters of state?" The boy Octavian asked eagerly.

"No, young master. The summons is for the young lady, Octavia. And the invitation comes from the lady of the house, Servilia."

A stunned silence fell over the breakfast table. Someone wanted Octavia? How amazing! The shy, sensitive beauty was too shocked to react. But then Atia took command. Her mother began shouting for brushes and paint pots and bullying female slaves into arranging her daughter's lovely auburn hair. Octavia was soon painted and powdered and laced into a gown that was much too tight and displayed far too much of her figure. And then before she knew it, it was time to go outside, and climb into a curtained traveling chair.

"Remember, don't eat or drink anything until that old witch tries it first," Atia called out, standing in the villa's outer yard. "Be careful, my little honey. Keep on your toes!"

"Remember, if Brutus proposes marriage, tell him he must come and speak with me first. I am head of the family now. I make all the decisions."

"Yes, I'll make sure to let Brutus know that you are the man in charge." Octavia looked down at her little brother, letting her big gray eyes tell him what he could do with his authority. Then she shut the curtains of her traveling chair, and leaned back with a sigh as the slaves lifted their heavy burden.

She didn't like hurting her family. Octavia didn't like hurting anyone. But she was tired of being the unwanted outsider.


	4. Hooked

_Chapter Four: Hooked_

Octavia worried all through the journey about her obnoxious little brother's pompous warnings. What if Brutus really did want to marry her? Octavia knew that her own feelings didn't matter. They never did. If the two families wanted an alliance, she would just have to obey and submit. As always.

But today it seemed the gods were with her. When she arrived at the stately villa of the clan of the Junii, the first people she met were Brutus and his friend Cassius. The two of them were laughing and in good spirits, on their way to the Senate. And they took no notice of her at all.

"Do come in, dear. Please excuse the informality of my appearance. I'm having rather a late breakfast this morning." Even with her hair down, reclining on a couch in her rumpled bed clothes, Servilia of the Junii radiated refined elegance. The mother of Brutus motioned gracefully for the younger woman to join her. Her silent, obedient female slaves swiftly set out fruit and nuts, wild honey and thick fresh cream.

"I'm surprised you're not busy helping Brutus run the city. After all, you did make him master of Rome." Octavia stretched out on a couch with dignity, glaring at the woman who had connived at the murder of poor Uncle Julius.

"Try to eat something," Servilia suggested gently. "You look as though you haven't eaten or slept in days."

"Much you care," Octavia muttered bitterly. But she began eating all the same. Servilia knew just what she liked. She had remembered all Octavia's favorite breakfast dishes. Unwillingly, the sensitive beauty recalled how often the two of them had shared an informal breakfast together in just this fashion after a spectacular night in bed.

"I do care," Servilia said softly, reaching across the low table and squeezing Octavia's slim white hand. Their eyes met, Octavia unwillingly drawn in by the older woman's dark brown gaze. "Don't let your family do your thinking for you, dear. We must work together to preserve what we cherish."

"I don't see how violence can preserve anything," Octavia found her hands were shaking as she poured herself a morning drink of goat's milk mixed with honey.

"You were always fond of goat's milk when you were a girl," Servilia said, smiling. "I remember when you came to visit us in the north. I was thinking of going to the country again."

"Really?" Octavia asked. "With your son Brutus, the murderer?"

"No, dear. I want to go north with you." Servilia raised a queenly hand, stifling Octavia's blushing, squirming protest. "Not because I want to force you into being my lover again. But because I want you to help me deal with the mutinous legions of the north. Marc Antony's legions did not react well to his death, or the death of Antony's master, Caesar."

"I should think not," Octavia stammered. "But how can two women sway the opinions of five Roman legions? And even if we could, why would I help your family maintain power?"

"You are Caesar's flesh and blood," Servilia pointed out. "And I am the mother of Brutus. Working together, we can calm the legions and prevent more senseless bloodshed."

"But who's in command up there? Can't the Senate restore order?" Octavia was growing interested in spite of herself. Her own family would never trust her with such an important mission. At home her job was to remain hidden in the shadows. Servilia was offering her a chance to find the sun.

"Lepidus is in command," Servilia replied, waving her hand. "You know what that means, dearest. He's weak and greedy. He'll allow the legions to plunder the northern towns and then pretend he lost control during the mutiny."

Octavia was frowning. "My brother Octavian was hoping Brutus would offer him a share of power. That's not going to happen, is it?"

"Maybe someday." Servilia shrugged, lying back on her couch with seductive, casual ease. "Imagine how furious Octavian will be when he finds you've been chosen instead. Imagine how your mother Atia will react."

Octavia was hooked. Hooked by the promise of power, of freedom. Hooked by the chance to stop senseless war and prevent needless violence from destroying countless lives. But most of all she was hooked by Servilia, by the memory of her caresses and the thrilling hours they'd spent together.

"All right," the young woman blurted out. "I'll do anything you ask of me. But I want something in return."

Servilia lazily arched one eyebrow. "Name it, my love."

"I want a military escort of my own choosing, commanded by a man I know I can trust. I want Lucius Vorenus."

"Lucius Vorenus?" Servilia sat up in a hurry, with none of her usual languid grace. Her lovely face was alabaster white.

Octavia shrugged, casually. "He's one of Caesar's veterans, is he not? He's a popular hero. You should remember him, dearest. After all, you tricked him into murdering his wife."


	5. Will You Help Me?

_Chapter Five: Will You Help Me?_

Lucius Vorenus thought about getting out of bed. But then the veteran centurion asked himself, what's the point? After all, it wasn't like he had a family to support. His wife was dead, and his children were who knows where. Everything he cared about was gone, or ruined. Thanks to him!

Maybe if some great soldier like Marc Antony came around and ordered him out of bed, he would obey. But Marc Antony was dead, brutally murdered by the weaklings in the Senate. Julius Caesar had died the same way. All thanks to Vorenus, of course. And so, no reason to get out of bed.

"Come on, brother," pleaded Titus Pullo. Pullo was a big, stupid brute, formerly of the Thirteenth Legion. He was the only person on earth who still cared about Vorenus, which only showed how stupid he really was. "You've got to find a reason to keep going. Suppose I told you a whole tribe of Gauls was marching on Rome this very minute?"

"Good," Vorenus replied from bed. "Let Rome burn."

"Hey, the gods don't like that kind of talk," Pullo chided. As a scoundrel who fought and killed for the fun of it, Pullo didn't really care about the gods. He was just trying to get Vorenus to snap out of it. "Suppose I told you it was Greeks then, eh? Greek pirates, violating virtuous Roman women?"

"There are no virtuous Roman women," Vorenus told his comrade, in a desolate voice. "Not anymore, anyway."

"Don't know about that," Pullo cheerfully countered. "Looks like two of them are on their way up here right now!"

"Is this the home of First Spear Centurion Lucius Vorenus?" asked a soft voice.

"It is, ma'am." Vorenus turned his head on the rough sack pillow and saw a pale, pretty young woman with auburn hair standing in the doorway. Something about her big gray eyes and gentle, frightened features rang a bell. Octavia of the Julii, that was the lady's name. Blood kin to the fallen hero, Julius Caesar. "How can I help you, my lady? I apologize for my appearance – I'm in mourning for my wife, Niobe."

"We grieve with you, centurion," said another female voice. This one was deeper, more self-assured, husky but with a note of authority and power. Vorenus didn't recognize the elegant, refined yet sensual older woman until she spoke. Instantly a killing rage took hold of the centurion.

"Lying Servilia! How dare you come to my house? I'll kill you, you whore!" If he had been in better condition, Vorenus would have been across the room in seconds. He would have had his hands around the woman's throat before she could even squeal. He would have choked the life right out of her. But Vorenus hadn't eaten in days, and he was weak. Disgracefully weak. He sprang from the bed. But it was far too easy for Pullo to pull him back.

"Easy, brother," Titus Pullo whispered into his ear, while his enormous forearms encircled Vorenus' heaving chest. "Easy, now. No use shedding the blood of the nobility. What's done is done, eh?"

"Take your hands off me, Pullo," the centurion snarled, freeing himself from his friend's powerful grip. He glared at the poisonous intruder. "Why did you come here, lady? To gloat over how your lies destroyed my family and my honor?"

"I told you no lies, centurion." Majestic Servilia walked right up to Vorenus, not stopping until their faces were mere inches apart. Her dark brown eyes met his without fear, her low, husky voice tranquil and calm. "My woman told you the truth about your wife on my orders. She told you of Niobe and the secret she kept from you. Whatever you did after that lies on your head, not on mine."

"You wanted me out of the way so your lying, two-faced son Brutus could stab Caesar in the back," Vorenus accused. "Antony was murdered too, wasn't he? Is this where Rome is headed, lady? Are we becoming a nation of cutthroats?"

"The Republic has been restored," Servilia replied, with quiet dignity. "Does that mean nothing to you, Vorenus? I was told you were a serious man, one who respected the old ways."

"You dare to talk to me of respect," Vorenus snarled. Just then Octavia laid a gentle hand on his arm.

"Lucius Vorenus, you have great reason for anger, as do all who mourn brave Caesar's death. But for the good of Rome, we must put aside our anger. We must ensure that order is restored. Will you help us?" The girl paused, glancing at the older woman. Vorenus saw fear in that look, as if Octavia was being forced to act against her will. "Will you help me?"

"I am yours to command, lady." The centurion made a low bow, carefully watching the two women. Servilia showed no emotion at all. But a blush spread across Octavia's cheeks.


	6. Curses and Thunderbolts

_Chapter Six: Curses and Thunderbolts_

_Clop-clop, clop-clop, clop-clop, clop-clop . . ._

The winter landscape was cheerless and bleak. The bare trees were like skeletons, the icy fields silent and still. The only sound was the monotonous clopping of the horses' hooves, dragging the heavily laden sledge slowly down the endless frozen road.

"The gods have favored us by bringing an early frost to Cisalpine Gaul," remarked serene and stately Servilia of the Junii. "Even Roman roads are easier to travel without the rain and mud."

"Yes, we are greatly f-favored by the gods!" Octavia of the Julii tried to sound cheerful and undaunted, but the beautiful young noblewoman couldn't help shivering a little as she spoke. Each time she exhaled, her warm breath made enormous billowing clouds in the frosty air. But even through the clouds of vapor Octavia could see the lone rider up ahead.

Lucius Vorenus.

"Your hero seems to be braving the cold quite nicely, with nothing but a centurion's scarlet cloak to keep him warm. Doesn't he look dashing on that white horse? The perfect soldier!" Servilia's alabaster features were calm and serene, as always. But her lovely dark brown eyes twinkled as she spoke.

"Lucius Vorenus is indeed the perfect soldier," Octavia replied with dignity, clutching her fur robes tighter around her shoulders. "He is a hero to all Rome, not just to me!"

"Yes, and all Rome is counting on him to bring us safely to the camp of Marcus Lepidus." Servilia reached into her own robes, pulled out a shining silver flask and drank. "But in order for us to complete our mission, dearest, we must remain on guard. We must not wander off alone and endanger the safety of the camp. We are Roman ladies. To forget that is to endanger many lives, including our own. Will you try to remember that, dearest?"

"I will remember," Octavia said stiffly. Last night she had left Servilia sleeping in the warm tent they shared and gone to seek out Vorenus. But the stern soldier had ordered her back to bed before she could even begin to thank him for escorting her on her dangerous mission. Octavia was embarrassed. Humiliated. She had gone back to her tent, as ordered. But she hadn't slept.

"Perhaps a drop of wine, to keep off the chill?" Servilia passed the flask with a knowing smile, like a general calling for a truce.

"Um, thanks." Octavia coughed a little as she drank the wine, which was sour to the taste and very strong. At home her mother always watered the wine they drank at mealtimes, and Octavia usually added honey to her cup. But at least this strong, sour, undiluted wine drove off the chill. Octavia settled a bit deeper into her furs.

"Lucius Vorenus is setting a good pace," Servilia commented, after they had ridden in silence for some time. "We should reach the camp of Lepidus by nightfall. Our centurion knows his job."

"Yes." Octavia didn't feel like discussing the cold, autocratic centurion any further. Why had she been such a fool last night? Vorenus probably thought she was a tramp, like his wretched first wife Niobe. No, it was worse than that. He thought she was still a child!

"Here, share my furs, and we'll be twice as warm."

"Mm." Octavia didn't object as Servilia tucked the two of them in together. Instead she rested her head on the older woman's shoulder. But her eyes stayed fixed on the centurion's wide shoulders. Octavia was very angry. She kept begging curses and thunderbolts to come down from the gods. But the gods took no notice. And neither did Vorenus. And soon Octavia was asleep.

_A/N: There is one mystery reviewer who has been incredibly supportive of this story – and you know who you are! Tibi gratias ad ago!_


	7. Wine and Laughter

_Chapter Seven: Wine and Laughter_

The two travel-weary noblewomen reached the camp of Marcus Lepidus just after dark. Strong, self-confident Servilia swept into the general's large and luxurious tent and demanded to speak with the commander at once. Sparks flew from her ebony eyes as she questioned the shy and timid young captain of the guard.

"Gone on patrol? Why did he not await our coming? Was he not told of our arrival? Did he not receive the messages from the Senate and my son? When will the general be back?"

"Lady Servilia, I am certain he meant no insult – General Lepidus will be back soon!" The smooth-cheeked young officer felt thoroughly intimidated by the majestic older woman. He glanced over her shoulder at the rustling tent flaps, half afraid that the next female to enter might be snake-haired Gorgon herself.

"Will the general be back in time for dinner?" The slim young woman in the heavy wool cloak was plainly no Gorgon. The boyish young officer gave her a timid smile of welcome, which she returned with innocent good cheer.

"Bring us food at once," Servilia snapped, nipping it in the bud. Her black eyes flashed in the firelight, extinguishing the officer's fragile hopes. He nearly stumbled in his haste to obey her orders.

"You didn't have to bite his head off," Octavia said softly, once they were alone together. She was warming her frozen hands by the fire, her mild gray eyes fixed on the flickering flames.

"We're in an army camp, dearest," the older woman replied, her voice firm and her hands possessive as she slid the heavy cloak from Octavia's shoulders. "I won't have the men pawing at you."

"Will Lucius Vorenus be joining us for dinner?" Octavia asked, fixing her thoughts on the centurion and resisting the urge to respond to Servilia's knowing touch.

"I've sent the centurion on a tour of the camp's defensive perimeter." The older woman chuckled, reading Octavia's tense body language with ease. "Tomorrow morning we'll have the whole legion drawn up on parade. You can feast your eyes on him then. Meantime, let's fill our stomachs, shall we?" She gave the auburn-haired girl a gentle shove towards the dining couches, letting her wiggle off the hook for the time being.

Octavia knew perfectly well that Servilia was toying with her. The two of them had to keep hands off in order to get the legions back in line and to complete their mission for the Roman senate. Octavia still had feelings for Servilia. But she didn't trust her.

"Tell me, Flavius. Are the legions ready to swear allegiance to Brutus now that Caesar is dead?" she asked, as the young man was bending over her couch and filling her wine cup at dinner.

"We are soldiers, lady. We will obey our general." Young Flavius darted a nervous glance at Servilia, who was lazily reclining on the opposite couch. With his handsome face close to Octavia's, he lowered his voice to a scarcely audible whisper. "Yet our hearts are still with Caesar, lady. And you are of Caesar's blood."

"What did he say?" Servilia asked, her languid posture on the couch scarcely hiding the keen look in her midnight black eyes.

"He said I was the very image of Venus," Octavia teased, her eyes bright. "And he pledged to worship me as only a _man_ can."

"Humph!" Servilia drained her wine cup, ignoring the playful jab. "Men think only of their own pleasure, girl. Remember that!"

"Oh, I will . . . if I ever take a lover. A _male_ lover, I mean." Octavia's gentle gray eyes glowed in the firelight. It felt so good to get away from Rome, from her cruel mother and the suffocating life at the villa. Suddenly she began to laugh, and Servilia joined in at once. Their laughter grew louder and louder, till it rang out from the tent and echoed into the icy night.

When wine and laughter finally dwindled, Octavia yawned, even as Servilia suggested sleep. Both women were slumbering deeply when a badly wounded courier came galloping into camp at midnight. In his pouch was the head of General Marcus Lepidus.


End file.
